Child of a King

Chapter forty-six - Finding a way forward

Michael:

I stood in the living room, holding a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. The rim pressed against my lips, but I didn't drink-my thoughts too far away for the taste to register. My eyes were fixed on the lake outside, where sunlight danced across the surface, making it shimmer like a thousand tiny diamonds. The morning fog had lifted, leaving the water clear and calm, almost peaceful.

For a moment, I let myself believe that everything was normal again. That Luca had just been away at school, maybe traveling the world like any young adult with her whole life ahead of her. I could almost picture it-her coming home, bags filled with souvenirs, stories of adventure ready to spill from her lips. She'd walk through the door, hair a little longer, face a little more tanned, but her smile would be the same. She'd laugh about missing out on family dinners, make fun of me for the new gray hairs she always liked to tease me about, and everything would be easy again. Simple.

But that wasn't the reality. The image shattered as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the truth that had been clawing at me since she walked back through that door. Luca hadn't been off chasing dreams or exploring the world. She had been trapped-trapped in a nightmare no child should ever have to endure. Juvie, Trevor, the scars she carried that no amount of sunlight or time could ever fully erase. The look in her eyes was forever imprinted in my memory. That look of someone who had lived through more pain than anyone her age should ever endure.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I had no idea how to help her. She was home now, but I wasn't naïve enough to think that everything was suddenly okay. Luca wasn't the same girl who left. Stronger, tougher, yes. But there were cracks in that armor, ones I wasn't sure how to fix.

"You've got that look on your face again," Chantelle's voice cut through my thoughts like a slap of reality. She strolled into the living room, stilettos clicking against the floor. She wore an outfit so flashy it could blind someone-bright pink with gold buttons on her skirt and blazer, complete with enormous sunglasses perched on her head, even though we were indoors.

"What look?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, dropping her oversized handbag onto the couch with a thud. "That 'I'm the brooding, concerned father, but I have no idea what to do' look," she said, swiping my cup of cold coffee and taking a sip before making a disgusted face. "Ugh, why is this cold? You really are hopeless sometimes."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Nice to see you're as subtle as ever, Chan."

She smirked, but there was a gentleness in her eyes. "Listen, Michael, you don't have to have all the answers. Luca's been through hell, sure. But she's tougher than you think. She's not that fragile little girl who used to cling to your leg when she was scared of thunderstorms. And you-" she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me-"need to stop treating her like that. She doesn't need protecting. She needs understanding."

I stayed quiet, the weight of her words sinking in like a stone in my chest. It was hard, hearing that. Harder still, knowing she was right. I wanted to wrap Luca up in bubble wrap, shield her from anything that could hurt her again. But she wasn't the same little girl who'd cry and come running to me when the world got too loud. She'd been fighting her battles, ones I couldn't win for her.

Chantelle sighed, the sound softer this time, as she plopped down onto the couch, folding her legs beneath her. "But you're not entirely wrong to worry. She's carrying a lot, even if she won't say it. That's why you've got to be patient. Don't smother her. Don't push too hard."

"I'm not trying to smother her," I muttered defensively.

"I know," Chan said, her tone gentler now. "But you're going to have to figure out how to be there for her without hovering. She needs to feel like she's still in control of her life." She paused, then grinned mischievously. "And while you're at it, maybe you could also distract her from that disaster she calls a hairstyle. I mean, seriously-what were they feeding her in juvie? Bad haircuts and depression?"